Monday, March 30, 2026

Faith Works 4-3-2026

Faith Works 4-3-2026
Jeff Gill

Jesus was dead on Good Friday
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Jesus was dead.

As they took him down off the cross, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that day. He was dead.

For three hours he had been subjected to the harshest punishment the Roman Empire or almost any earthly authority could hand down. Crucifixion was not like a hanging or beheading, which while humiliating and fear inducing would be a moment in time once imposed. To be nailed to a cross was to be killed in as slow a fashion as human ingenuity could devise, to inflict as much pain as possible without quite killing the victim.

There are some traditions suggesting a member of the nobility might be executed by archers; Roman hierarchies had long had their own rules, from being flung off a height near the Forum (a spot tourists still visit), or other forms of regal dispatch. Crucifixion was largely for slaves, or criminals in occupied provinces like Judea or Galilee.

Your death would be a relief, but it would not come soon enough. Some of the crucified would survive for days, especially when Romans were making an example of a population, nailing dozens, even hundreds to roadside crosses after an uprising. During the childhood of Jesus one such display happened in Galilee. Everyone knew what crucifixion entailed.

With Passover at hand, and Roman feasts planned, the victims were considered lucky in a way: they would not hang on their crosses past sundown, after being nailed up at noon. The thieves with Jesus had their legs broken, a gratuitous infliction of a last indignity which meant along with the pain and shock they could not hold themselves up enough to breathe, past the fluid-filled lungs of the dying in that fashion.

All the traditions agree that when the soldiers came to Jesus, he was dead. To be certain, they drove a spear into his ribcage, piercing his heart. No doubt. Blood and water poured out, but the heart no longer beat. Jesus was dead.

Friends may have taken him down from the cross, but Roman soldiers supervised. If there was the faintest flicker of life in that scarred and savaged body, they would have seen it, and stepped in, short sword in hand. But they turned the corpse over to the Jewish leader who offered his assistance, in closing out this grim scene before day's end by offering up his nearby vacant tomb. Joseph of Arimathea and what others were able and willing, likely including Nicodemus, took him down, cleaned the body off, wrapped it up (the body now an it, not a him), and carried him the short distance.

It is said "Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James" and even other women, including his mother Mary, had seen where the burial happened, perhaps helped at some stage of the preparation of the body.

Some of them would come back, not because they expected to find him alive, but to finish the decency of what should be done to the dead body of someone you cared about, whom you loved. Not at once, but after things calmed down.

For now, Jesus was dead. They all knew it. It was now one of the few things they were certain of. Jesus had spoken of the kingdom of heaven, the realm of God, his Father's house, but the disciples and followers and friends of Jesus knew that was somewhere else, sometime yet to come. This day, Jesus was dead. As we would be. The goal now was simply to not make that dread day come too soon, as it had for Jesus.

The one they had come to know as the fulfillment of God's plan, of divine purpose on earth as it is in heaven, was dead. The future was dark, and empty of hope, even as the tomb was now filled. What else was there?


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's got a bit more to say on Easter day, but this is not that, yet. Tell him why you have hope at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 4-9-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 4-9-2026
Jeff Gill

History continues to be made in Licking County
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As a church historian, I have noticed over the "internet era" a trend on local church websites that saddens me more than a bit.

In the late 1990s on early congregational websites, and on into the early 2000s, you would almost inevitably see a tab "Our History." This was common, even standard.

Today, you may or may not find such information. If there's an "About Us" tab you might find a short church history note in the drop-down menu, but just as likely you will not. Obviously, the growth of new non-denominational churches feeds this trend, since they just started a few years back — and there's a whole additional story there about how even denominationally supported new church starts will bury their affiliation deep in a website if it's there at all.

One reason given for this is market driven, if not seeker sensitive per se: people don't care. Years ago people moved to a town and looked for "their" church, regardless of other factors; today, it's more likely families are looking for programs and worship styles which meet their needs, regardless of affiliation or even theology. History is not a connection for many.

Obviously, I have a different take on this. I try to be cautious, because what I like is not to everyone's taste, and I'm told occasionally I am wrong about some things. But I think history is woven into our tastes and instincts and interests in ways that go beyond the trends of the moment.

2026 is in theory a great year for people like me. It's America 250, with a peak around the Fourth of July, marking 250 years since the Declaration of Independence and our nation's founding, and many events have already taken place, with more to come even after July. In Granville, I'm doing a pair of programs in June I'll come back to next month about our history as a country and community around parks and the outdoors; in August, there's going to be a grand picnic event in Our Fayre Village. And on into the fall…

On the radio, some of you have heard me talking about a series of twenty-five historical figures in Licking County history. They range from the 1770s to the near-present, women and men, different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, some celebrities in their own right and others a surprise to even those who've lived here their whole lives.

The full list (in roughly chronological order): Rev. David Jones, Catherine Stadden, William Stanbery, Archbishop Jean-Baptiste Lamy, William Hollister, Israel Dille, Jackson Shackleford, Thomas D. Jones, Johnny Clem, Gen. Charles Griffin, Edward Roye, Victoria Woodhull, William Woods, Mary Hartwell Catherwood, Reinhard Scheidler, Gertrude Dorsey Brown, Eli Hull, Augustus Heisey, Ellen Hayes, Bertie Burr Dawes, Jerrie Mock, Eleanor S. Weiant, Games Slayter, Dave Longaberger, Wayne Newton.

The challenge was to sum up a significant life in our county history in brief. They're one minute spots, but my part is forty seconds long for each. My hope is there's enough to make some of you want to go look up a bit more on your own.

Because all of these people tell us something about who we are. Not just who they were, but what we are trying to become as a nation, a county, a person in our own time. I would have loved to add a few dozen more, but these are a good start.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's a bit of a historian on a good day. Tell him which one intrigues you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.